


The Wish

by Wiseskylight



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Caring Batfamily (DCU), Christmas Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28512486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiseskylight/pseuds/Wiseskylight
Summary: On Christmas, Duke gets a visit from someone who cares.
Relationships: Duke Thomas & [secret], Duke thomas & batfamily
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20
Collections: Gift Exchange 2020





	The Wish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PepperSoniRoni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperSoniRoni/gifts).



> I hope this has the proper characterisation of Duke, Pepper :D

For a long time, sleep was always within Duke’s reach. The sun, which shimmered through the gap between the short grey blinds and windowsill, would barely move below the bridges of Gotham before he registered his descent into nothingness. Sometimes, Duke did not even reach the simple thought of _almost asleep_ as the lids of his eyes droop, the weight of schoolwork and extracurricular activities dragging them down. However, on certain nights when cool winds claw the thick brick walls, a leg or arm would ripple with movement, lifting off the bed and thrusting him to the surface of consciousness. The sudden haze of memories would cloud his thoughts as he slithered his way to remember his actions before sleep struck him. It always took a few seconds – or minutes, he did not know – as fragmented recollections piece themselves together, like a broken watch with an amateur watchmaker. It’s only then he remembered to switch off the lamp which gleams across his face but avert his eyes while doing so.

Sleep was less easy the second time; his mind drifted towards peculiar notions, such as whether his breathing was correct or was his jaw in the right position to allow his teeth to sit comfortably? His mother’s incessant chatter over the rising workload – _40 cases_ , she would say. _I’m meant to have_ 25 – entered through the thin door. A downfall for having his room so close to the living area. His father’s tone, gruff and on the border of exhaustion, joined his mother’s as to soothe her stresses away. Even after a tiring day on a construction site, the man would wrap his arms around her to help carry the burden of her job. On other nights, it was his mother’s arms around the man she swore to love through bleak times. Duke regularly found them like that, each time he decided to crack open his door. But the whole thing seemed too personal – too _intimate_ – to interrupt. So, he would lie back in bed counting the number of police sirens it took to lull him back to nothingness.

Even when things changed. When the care system, the one his mother tried so hard to improve, dragged him to a foster home and forced him with strangers to replace his parents. Sleep still came with no trouble, if not interrupted. Duke used to wonder if he should feel the waves of guilt surfing in his stomach. The fact that he could – and still can – drift off despite the mounting pressures that cause other people to collapse around him. An instance is when his first social worker got tired of his ‘relentless troublemaking’: “Runaways like you,” the stern woman begins, lips curling downwards, “are all the same. You think the whole world is against you. That I am some mortal enemy. Well, I’m not. I’m just doing my job, but if you’re going to throw your life away, I’m not going to stop you. So keep running, kid. You’ll just be back at the start.”

The words made Duke fight harder, try to run further. He did not want to be moulded into some false version of himself to appease potential adopters; have himself dressed up as one of the abandoned dolls found deep within the shared toy box in the care home; wear the same smile other children carve onto their faces which screamed _give me a home_. Duke was not like them. He had a home. He only had to find his parents. It’s there he would be welcomed back into their steady embrace.

But things don’t turn out the way people intend.

Duke tries to pull himself up from his current position on the bed, but the sharp pain which echoes throughout his body forces him back down. “Three broken ribs,” Leslie stated, as she checked him over a few days earlier, “a fractured ankle, excessive bruising, and internal bleeding.” The list of injuries went on. So grew the shadowy expression that stormed over Batman’s visible facial features. Duke recalls the way the man’s lips pressed themselves together in a line sharper than his batarangs. It’s after the medical examination that Bruce utters his first sentence in the past three hours: “You’re off active duty until Leslie confirms you are fit enough to return.”

Duke was fine with that. He completed what he set out to do. The Joker was once again behind bars. The green-haired lunatic had set out to infect Gotham’s central water systems with an updated neurotoxin. One which no doubt would cause mayhem and destruction in its wake. Duke had been the first one on the scene with demands from the Bat to wait for him and the others. He disobeyed, taking him about three minutes to turn from the order. A new personal record, he would say. But the lives of many were at stake. He could not sit back and watch the toxin be inched closer to one of the main water towers. To him, a second wasted meant the many lives he could have saved.

And he did.

Duke stopped the Joker and his goons from committing any more atrocities but at the cost of injuries that would take months to heal. A fair price in his eyes. It’s at times like these he wonders how his parents would look if they saw him now. He imagines his father fretting around him, making sure Duke does nothing to slow down his recovery. His mother would sit beside his bed – just like she does every time he was sick – and holds his hand as a small smile flickered on her face.

“You’re always so reckless,” his mother once said after Duke had broken his arm while tree climbing. “I don’t know whether it’s bravery or stupidity.”

Despite the smile, the worry was plain to see.

“I got it from you,” Duke responded.

“I know,” was his mother’s whispered words. “I… know.”

Duke questions what the time is. His window – not the one from home, the one where they were family – portraying the early winter darkness does nothing to give it away. There is frost drifting across the glass, creating shapes similar to snowflakes. The Robin red curtains are also half-raised illustrating what could be around nine o’clock, but he does not trust it. These days 3 PM looks the same. So he does his best to elevate his right arm as he reaches over to his bedstand. He hisses when a tremor of agony shoots through his chest, but he grabs his phone before the pain becomes too much.

Clicking the home button, the screen blares to life.

_19:42_

_Friday 25 December_

He blinks a few times to allow his eyes to adjust. Not so early then. His mind was betting on around five o’clock as that’s the usual time he has been waking up. The reason being the issue with Joker had been spanning back two weeks, wreaking havoc on his sleeping routine. There were even days he found himself napping on his school desk because of it. Or snoozing through lunch. It didn’t really matter where or when. Thankfully, he has not been caught yet. He can only imagine the look of annoyance pinching Mr Nancy’s face as another issue of Duke’s is reported to him. The average amount of times Duke sees his homeroom teacher is around three a month. Mostly for handing in late coursework, but his excuses work because of his grades – he is an A-star student. Well, after he began putting in the effort in his senior year.

He did not do that at his previous school. Not when everything with his parents–

_Knock. Knock._

Many years ago, Duke would have jumped at sudden sounds, but the last year of training stomped that away. Only curiosity pumps along with the blood beneath his skin. He makes an internal list of names of who could be at the front door. It may be Steph to talk to him about a case she needs help with, or Tim doing whatever Tim does. But they know where the spare key to his studio apartment is. They don’t usually bother knocking. They just burst through the door, or how Steph puts it as ‘ice cream hunting’ because of Duke’s known sweet tooth.

Then the door squeaks open.

“Master Duke,” an English voice calls out, piercing overall city sounds. “I’m coming in.”

Duke finds himself chuckling before a harsh cough exits his mouth. Alfred must have heard him as he is at Duke’s bedroom door within seconds. The ageing butler is dressed in his usual sleek uniform as he grasps the bottled water beside Duke’s bed and hands it to him. Duke takes it as his coughing fit lessens after many moments. The refreshing liquid quells the rawness of his throat. After a few gulps, he can finally bring himself to speak.

“What brings you here, Al?” Duke wheezes out. “The old bat wants an update?”

Alfred hums as he helps shift Duke into a sitting position. “So I cannot see you out of my own volition?”

Duke’s lips quirk upwards. “You know that’s not what I mean. My day always brightens when I see you.”

“Compliments won’t get you far in life,” Alfred says as he mirrors Duke’s soft smile.

“But it would get me your tasty food,” Duke replies, as he makes himself comfortable in his new position. Tilting too much to the left would place some strain on his ribs.

Alfred exhales with his mouth pressed tight as to stop himself from chuckling outright. “Indeed, it does. But I’m not here because of Master Bruce.”

Duke stares at the man with a raised eyebrow, hoping his expression will prompt more of an answer. That’s when his gaze drifts down to a gift bag on the floor close to Alfred’s feet. Duke must have not seen it amid his coughing fit otherwise the yellow bag would have been the first thing that caught his attention. It was the size of a shoebox with a wrapped present within it. He returns his questioning look to the grey-haired butler.

Alfred picks up the bag before sitting on the edge of the bed.

“With the number of injuries you accumulated, you did give everyone quite a scare,” Alfred began, placing the bag on his lap. “Your surgery was met with tension and relief after going well.”

Acid turns within Duke’s stomach as he shifts his eyes to his hands. “I never meant to make anyone worried, but…”

“…it was your only choice?” Alfred expresses with a hint of resignation. Duke can only wonder what emotion his face holds. “Master Bruce says the same. You all do; Dick, Jason, Stephanie and so on. The nature of self-sacrifice seems to run deep within this family, brought about by tragedies we have all faced. Tragedies we would never wish upon any other. That is something I know will never change. So today, and this specific day, I think it’s all right to be selfish.”

“Selfish?” Duke repeats, his look returning to Alfred.

The man nods, the smile still upon his face. “Yes, your injuries will prevent you from journeying to the manor to celebrate. So I thought it would be best to come here.”

It’s either confusion – or the painkillers – which causes Duke’s thought process to not make any connection. “Celebrate? And what does that have to do with me being selfish?”

“It’s Christmas,” Alfred says, as the realisation dawns on Duke. “Plus, I never said you had to be the selfish one.”

Alfred moves the gift on his lap and places it in front of Duke. “Today, I just want to see my family together. That is my only selfish wish.”

Before Duke could reply with a numbed tongue, another knock – multiple knocks, actually – could be heard on his front door.

“That would be the others,” Alfred says as he stands. He begins to walk towards the door but pauses as he reaches it. “Merry Christmas, Master Duke.”

Duke watches Alfred disappear out of his blurry, wet sight to open the door.


End file.
